


Catbread Underway

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [11]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no witnesses at sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catbread Underway

The new antibiotics worked quickly. Murray's fever broke that afternoon, and the next day, he was asking to go home. Dr. Huntley said not quite yet, but maybe Monday.

The doctor was pleased with his patient's sudden improvement, which couldn't be attributed purely to the medicine. It seemed to have a lot more to do with the sudden arrival of 'Uncle Mike', a man who was no more Murray's family than Dr. Huntley himself. He didn't ask, knowing that in this case, knowledge could be dangerous, but he felt strongly that this was Murray's lieutenant. It didn't make sense, but at the same time, it was the only thing that did. If it weren't for that, Huntley would never have considered sending him home so early. But Murray clearly needed the man who wasn't his uncle, and that man needed to find a better hiding place than the hospital room of a minor celebrity.

When Murray woke before dawn on Monday morning, Quinlan was gone. He sat up in alarm, nearly pulling out his IV, and barely stopped himself from crying out.

"Hey, calm down, Boz," Cody said sleepily, stroking his shoulder through the thin gown. "It's okay. _He's_ okay."

"Where?"

"On the boat. Nick took him over already, so nobody would see him in the dark. He'll be there waiting when you get home, I promise."

"Soon?"

"Real soon."

Murray lay back and tried to slow his breathing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so scared. Certainly not since Quinlan died. Cody offered him a drink of water and he took it gratefully.

"That's it, Murray. Calm down or they'll think something's wrong."

"Something _is_ wrong," he whispered, handing the cup back. "I'm sick and he's hiding and everything's wrong."

"But it's almost over. He told us that when this job is done, he'll be coming back to life. And you're not so sick anymore. Get some rest and a little good food and you'll be fine."

"I—I know, Cody. He tells me that, too. But I don't know if I believe it. Not about getting well—I know that's true—but the rest. I don't know if it'll ever really be safe for him again. It scares me."

"Sure it does. It'd scare anyone. But it'll be okay. We're going to take you home and head out to sea for a while. Nick's stocking up now, and we'll get your prescriptions on the way home. You won't have to work or worry about anything except getting well."

"You—really? We can just pick up and go like that?"

"Why not? We didn't have any work lined up anyway, because you were going out of town. Don't you think the universe owes you a vacation?"

"Maybe. Do you think I can go soon?"

"Well, the sun's not even up yet, Boz. I think the doctor will want to see you, and you'll need to eat some breakfast."

Murray fell back with a defeated sigh, as if Cody had said he needed to complete an obstacle course, or maybe wrestle Marines first.

"I want to go _home_," he whined, then clapped a hand over his mouth. He hated whining as much as his friends hated listening to it. But Cody just pulled his hand away from his face and held it without comment. After a few minutes, Murray went back to sleep.

***

Theodore Quinlan had done a lot of hard things in his life. Marrying a woman he didn't love because it was the nineteen fifties and she was pregnant. Coming home from Korea just to go to Vietnam a few years later. Being ordered to burn a village of women and children by a man he'd respected, and losing his rank for refusing. Those things were hard.

Five years in a radio-car was hard. So was losing his wife, whom he had come to love in a way, after close to twenty years of marriage. Waking up to the knowledge that his son was a stranger, and not a friendly one, was harder. He'd been shot, knifed, and beaten in a hundred stupid brawls, by people who weren't fit to breathe the same air as normal folks, and if you thought that wasn't hard, you might be one of them.

And he'd been confined to a hospital bed, forced to watch the sweet young man who'd somehow turned out to be the love of his life bleed for his pain. Then he'd been snatched away, leaving that man with a broken heart, unable even to say goodbye, and thought that was the hardest thing he'd ever have to do.

But the hard things kept coming, hitting him again and again. Seeing Murray on the boat from an uncrossable distance, worn down with grief, dying by inches. Stealing a few hours with him in secret, only to bleed anew when he left. That was bad, but it was at least tempered with sweetness. Not so getting the news that Murray was dying. That was when he realized that all of the hard things in his life had just been building up to this. All his life he'd heard that it was easier to suffer than to watch a loved one suffer, but he'd never believed it. Now he knew that he'd just never loved anyone enough.

So he waited in the cramped anchor locker, peering through the deadlight, determined to see Murray the moment he got out of the car, worried that something might go wrong if he wasn't there to oversee, that Murray might not get there without his personal escort. But it wasn't long before he saw them on the gangway, Nick supporting Murray with an arm around his waist. In just a minute they would be there and Quinlan could hold him, look him over and make sure for himself that the kid was all right.

But it wasn't that easy. Murray had a lot of friends, all of them kept from the hospital under the false pretense of doctor's orders, lying in wait to swarm the boat and welcome him home. Quinlan heard Mama Jo and wished he could speak to her; heard Dooley and was glad to be out of the way. But after fifteen minutes, he would cheerfully have shot them all and thrown them overboard to get Murray to himself. Only Nick and Cody could be tolerated; Cody to drive the boat, and Nick to keep Cody out of their way.

Fifteen minutes after Quinlan thought he couldn't take it a second longer, Murray pled exhaustion and asked to be excused. Cody volunteered to help him down to his cabin, and his many friends trickled away at last.

"Finally," Quinlan said, relieved enough to sound angry. "I thought you were going to have the whole damned pier stay for lunch."

"Well, Ted, that's not a bad idea. I could get them back if you'd like."

"Stuff it, Allen. And get us out of here. I'm about to start climbing the walls." He slid his arm around Murray's waist, neatly assuming the burden and easing him away from Cody.

"I'll get up in a little while and make lunch," Murray said sleepily.

"No, you won't," the other two said in unison, and he laughed.

"You sounded just like Nick," he told Quinlan, sinking down onto his bed.

"I don't want to hear that. Go on, Allen. Get this tub underway already."

"Watch how you talk about my boat," he said, smiling to hide that he was really a little pissed. "We're leaving as soon as I get up top. And Nick's going to make some lunch in a little bit. One of us'll come get you when it's ready. You just rest, okay, Murray?"

"Yes, thank you, Cody. I mean that. You guys saved my life and I never thanked you."

"Well, you had a lot on your mind," he said, with that special big-brother smile that was just for Murray. "Get some sleep, okay?"

He nodded, not opening his eyes. He really was very tired. Cody went out and closed the door behind him.

"You want your jammies, kid?"

"No. Just help me get my clothes off, please. Everything smells like the hospital. It makes me feel sick."

Quinlan knelt by the bed and undressed him with hands as tender as Cody's smile, laying him naked on clean sheets. The marks of the hospital were on him still, and eradicating them became Quinlan's first priority. He looked under the bed where Murray had always kept his most personal things (and didn't it say a lot about him that those things took up one box that fit under his bed?) and found a bottle of musk oil. Quinlan remembered that bottle very well. He'd bought it himself and kept it here to rub on Murray's tense shoulders and hunched back when he couldn't be convinced to stop working any other way. It gave him a twinge of real pain to remember those relatively carefree days, and he wondered that Murray hadn't gotten rid of it by now. But, he realized as he pushed the box back, most of the things in it were his, or theirs. The massage oil was probably the least painful item in the lot.

He shoved those thoughts away and poured a little oil on his fingertips. The smell of it washed over them both and Murray sighed, soft and peaceful. Quinlan began rubbing it over the bits of adhesive residue on Murray's chest, left by the heart monitor pads, and he sighed again, arching subtly into the touch. The adhesive came loose and rolled into little balls, robbed of its stickiness by the smooth oil. He rolled them together into one ball and dropped it in the trash before starting the next part.

On Murray's left arm were two pieces of tape, each holding a cotton ball over an IV site. The first site had gone bad yesterday, and a second was started, over Murray's weary protests. He hadn't seen the need for it so close to checkout, and, honestly, neither did Quinlan, but it was policy. So his work here was doubled, but when it came to Murray's comfort, he could be a very patient man.

Carefully, he peeled up one corner of the highest strip of tape, just below Murray's elbow. Murray winced and was immediately ashamed, but his lover's smile was kind. Quinlan poured a few drops of oil under the edge and began to work it deeper with his thumb, rubbing small circles between Murray's skin and the tape. It came away with little resistance and he began on the other side, careful not to work the oil into the mildly inflamed hole left by the needle.

"I never knew that could feel good," Murray said, almost purring under the caressing thumb.

"A nurse in Seoul showed it to me," he said simply and moved to the next site.

When he was finished, the smell of musk had overridden that of adhesive and alcohol, and Murray no longer felt so much like a hospital patient. It helped, too, that strangers weren't coming in to look at him naked, and when Quinlan picked up his hand again, there was nothing professional in his touch.

He poured oil into Murray's palm and began to massage it with both thumbs, working into the thin cords of muscle and tendon, smiling possessively at the low groans of pleasure.

"Do you even know what you do to me?" Quinlan said roughly and Murray peered at him with unfocused, half-lidded eyes.

"I thought you were the one doing things to me."

"Goes both ways, kid." He switched to Murray's other hand and was rewarded with another groan.

"I sure hope this is foreplay, Lieutenant, because I've been waiting a long time."

"You're not even well yet," he said dismissively, but the words and the continued sounds of pleasure were having their effect. Just as his fingers working into Murray's hands were having theirs.

"I'm well enough." He shifted a little and stroked his own stiffening cock with his free hand, leaving a light sheen of oil over the length of his shaft. Quinlan's hands tightened in response, digging harder into Murray's palm and drawing a soft moan from him.

"I know you want to, Lieutenant," he whispered. "It's been just as long for you." Insecure to the last, he watched the other man's face as he said those words, searching for any flicker of guilt or uncertainly that might indicate Quinlan had maybe not waited so long. But all he saw was silent agreement and simple need.

"I don't want to hurt you," was all he said, forcing his fingers to relax on Murray's hand.

"You won't. I trust you."

"You trust too much, kid," he said, sliding one hand under Murray's neck and leaning in to kiss him. He kept massaging Murray's palm until the smooth hand twisted in his and twined their fingers together.

Breaking that kiss, releasing that sweetly trusting hand, was one more hard thing Quinlan almost couldn't do. Murray watched him pull away, his eyes still half closed and glassy with sleep, a small smile curving his bitten lips.

That smile undid all his good intentions. It was the knowing smile of the genius who saw inside him, who understood him and loved him anyway, and it promised more of that mind blowing genius sex. Quinlan had always wondered how just being smart could improve sex, without the benefit of practice and experience, and he still didn't know. But this kid, who'd only had five lovers before him, was teaching him new things all the time.

Goaded by that smile, and the long fingers with which Murray lazily fondled himself, Quinlan rose and undressed. Moving slowly, deliberately, he spread Murray's legs and lay down on top of him, careful to support his own weight. Murray's hand found his and held on tight, the knowing smile disappearing in a slow, deep kiss. Their bodies moved together, searching for the right angle, the right touch, and he gasped hungrily against Quinlan's mouth when they achieved it. The perfect slotting of silky-hard flesh in the hollows of pelvises, the pressure created when their legs entwined, the slide of musk oiled skin when they thrust together.

Murray threw his head back and rolled his hips, his short nails biting painfully into Quinlan's shoulder. But even now, his eyes weren't really open, and he was smiling again, giving him a sleepy, satisfied look even as he fucked with abandon. Quinlan slipped his free hand down Murray's side and under the curve of his ass, pulling him closer, altering his rhythm to something erratic and indescribably hot.

"That's good," he murmured through the sleepy smile. "That's so good, Lieutenant. Just—just a little harder—like that—harder…" His low voice broke into shattered moans and he managed to _twist_ his hips somehow, bringing their slick cocks together, almost but not quite overlapping, and Quinlan thrust harder, choking back a sob.

He wasn't worried about hurting Murray anymore, or thinking the kid needed to sleep. All he cared about was the writhing body beneath him, those broken moans, and the hot palm stuck to his by sweat and sweet musk oil. He came too quickly, overwhelmed by it all, biting Murray's throat to muffle his cries, thrusting helplessly and too hard. Oh, but that was good, too. Murray pulled his nails out of Quinlan's shoulder and reached for his hip, digging in and holding on, thrilling to the feel of his pulse and the sticky-slick mess between them. He raised his head stiffly, captured his lover's mouth with his and sucked his tongue as he came.

The moment it was over, Murray collapsed, suddenly limp and almost unresponsive. Quinlan got up and cleaned them both off, covered Murray with a sheet and put his clothes on as if nothing had happened. He went out to the galley for a glass of water and took one back to Murray, who drank when told to, but didn't open his eyes. As soon as Quinlan took the glass away, Murray went to sleep.

***

Nick made a rich chicken soup for lunch and toasted a loaf of French bread. Quinlan offered to bring some downstairs, but Murray said he wanted to get up. He'd slept for two hours and they were far out at sea by now. Quinlan helped him into the head to wash up, then back to the salon where Cody was setting the table. Murray sank into one of the deep rattan chairs with a sigh that gave his lover a twinge of real pleasure. Maybe if they got enough rest this afternoon…

Murray ate two bowls of soup and the third slice of bread that Quinlan forced on him. His stomach sufficiently full, he took his antibiotics and was ready to sleep again. But he didn't want to go back to bed.

"You can't sleep in the sun, Boz, you'll get burned," Cody told him, as if it were inevitable.

"No he won't," Quinlan said flatly. "I'll keep an eye on him. You got sunscreen, and maybe a hat?"

"In my room," Murray said. "I'll go get it."

"No, you stay here," Quinlan said. Or, rather, ordered. "Tell me where it is."

He went down and got the hat and sunscreen, fixed Murray up enough to stand an hour or so of sunlight, and went with him to the fantail. Someone had set up his favorite chair, but Quinlan had a better idea. He sat on the bench and leaned into the curved end with one foot up on the seat, his bent knee resting against the back. Murray eased himself down between Quinlan's thighs, stretched his legs out on the bench and leaned into the sturdy chest. One strong arm encircled his waist and the other his shoulders, two inches low of a chokehold, with no threat in it. Murray snuggled his cheek into the bent elbow and pulled his hat down low over his eyes.

"You're going to get tired," he murmured against Quinlan's arm.

"Not before you do. Just rest, kiddo." He kissed Murray's temple lightly, relaxing into a comfortable cushion for the skinny man.

"I wish we could stay here forever. It's not right, you having to leave even though all those guys are in prison."

"I know. But that's not the reason. I still have a job to finish in Mexico."

"It'll be done soon, right?"

"I hope so." His right hand was moving now, rubbing small circles on Murray's stomach, lulling him to sleep. It wasn't hard to do. With the antibiotics, and the painkillers for the residual ache in his back, coupled with the warm sun and the soothing sound of Quinlan's breathing, he was fast asleep in minutes.

Cody came out a half hour later and couldn't help smiling at the scene before him. He handed Quinlan a glass of iced tea, noticing as he did that the older man's arms were starting to turn red.

"You're getting a bit of a burn there, Ted," he remarked.

"Nothing I can do about it," Quinlan whispered, not wanting to wake Murray.

"Yeah, well, if you're not careful it'll ruin your whole week." Cody picked up the bottle of sunblock and poured a little into his hand. He applied it lightly to Quinlan's forearms, smiling at the bewildered expression he got in return.

"What in hell are you doing?"

"Trying to save your week. You'll thank me later."

"I'm sure not gonna thank you now."

Cody took advantage of Quinlan's helplessness to put a little on his face, which was also red, although probably not so much from the sun. It was good that he was wearing long pants, because if Cody had touched his legs, Quinlan would probably have kicked him. As it was, he had to be content with glaring and drinking his iced tea, a combination that made it almost impossible for Cody to keep from laughing. Especially when Murray, curled in his arms like a cat, indicated with the tiniest hint of a smile that he was awake again and simply choosing not to get involved.

But Quinlan didn't object when Cody put more lotion on Murray's exposed skin, very carefully, to preserve the fallacy that he was still asleep. Not long afterwards, he was.

The man who held him did get tired. His left leg cramped up and his arm went numb, but he was a soldier, combat trained to bear discomfort, and he never moved a muscle. Not until Murray woke for real, late in the afternoon. They shifted together, finding a more comfortable position, neither quite ready to give up the small pleasure of openly displayed affection.

When Nick realized Murray was awake, he brought out his pills and a glass of orange Gatorade, and asked what he wanted for dinner. Murray said whatever everyone else was having and left it at that. He wasn't very hungry.

"You want to stay out here or go in?" Quinlan asked when Nick had gone.

"We'd better go in." Murray grinned, and his eyes, which had so recently been full of nothing but pain and fear, sparkled with teasing humor. "You don't want to risk Cody coming back out here and putting more sunblock on you."

"You little _prick_," he said in amazement. The cradling arms turned strong and pushed him away, spinning him around so their eyes met. Quinlan saw that teasing sparkle, the trusting joy of a man so loved that he could provoke with impunity, and all he could do was laugh. "Were you awake all day?"

"Hardly at all. Just for the good parts, I think. And it was very nice of Cody to be thinking of you, too. You probably _should_ have thanked him." Still provoking, but with a wink that made Quinlan itch to throw him down and take him there on the deck. Instead, he stood up and grasped Murray's arm, tugging him to his feet.

"We'll talk later about what the _good parts_ are, and who I should be thanking for what."

"You can count on it."

***

Murray's bed was narrow and uncomfortable, but Quinlan was so glad to be with him again, he didn't notice. Glad wasn't even the word for it, but as he lay there in the dark, the thin man sprawled across his body, he couldn't come up with another. His education wasn't in poetry and words were not his strength. He spoke with his hands, combing the unkempt hair with his fingers and massaging gently around prominent ribs.

"Lieutenant?" Murray whispered, breathing warm against his chest.

"Hmm?"

"Don't go back to Mexico."

"What?"

"You don't have to. The guys who wanted to kill you all got life sentences and they've been transferred to that Federal prison in New Jersey. You can stay now if you want."

"I can't, baby," he said softly. "I have to finish my job. I gave my word."

"But I need you. I can't—I can't watch you leave again."

"You're gonna have to. It's not for much longer."

"But…"

"No, kiddo. Think about it. Would you want me if I broke my word? If I left those people to be rounded up and sold as slaves when all they want is a better life for their families? Is that the man you want me to be?"

"No," he sighed, and Quinlan felt a drop of water fall on his skin. "But I still need you."

"It's just because you've been sick, kid. You almost died and you're not strong yet. I'll stay until you are, I promise."

"I can't be strong without you," he said in that same hopeless whisper.

"Yes, you can. You've always been strong, in ways you don't even understand. I wouldn't've wasted my time on a weakling."

"So I can't make you stay?"

"I would if I could. You know I want to."

Murray sat up, threw back the covers and got out of bed, reaching for his pants. Quinlan grabbed his wrist and he tried to twist free, barely able to restrain himself from striking out with his other hand.

"Where are you going, kid? You think you can leave first? You think it won't hurt so much that way? Well, it will. It hurts more, in fact. Walking away from you is the hardest fucking thing I've ever done, but I keep coming back, even though it means I'll have to walk away again."

Murray stood still for a moment, feeling Quinlan's hand burning like a brand on his arm.

"I don't know how to stand it," he said, his voice cracked with pain and humiliation. "I can't stop feeling like you go—or you send me home, is more accurate—because you have more important things to do. Maybe other people that you like better, who come around when I'm gone. I've never been jealous, but now I think that I just never had anything worth being jealous over."

"Kid, you got nothing to worry about. I don't want anyone else, you should know that. And I'm not being overwhelmed with offers down there, either. There ain't any temptation to resist."

"But you won't stay."

"I told you, I've got a job to do. Murray," he said quietly, grabbing his full attention at last, the sound of his name foreign and compelling. "Murray, you can quit this if you want. If it's too hard, I'll go away and not bother you anymore."

"No," he said harshly, and Quinlan realized he was crying. He thought then that he'd give a limb to not make the kid cry anymore, if he just knew who to give it to. He pulled gently on Murray's arm and Murray went to him without resistance, his clothes forgotten. Quinlan was sitting up now and he eased Murray into his lap, holding him too hard, as if squeezing the tears out of him. Murray laid his head on the strong shoulder and sobbed brokenly, still trying to speak.

"I don't want you to go, but if you have to, I need you to come back. Don't give up on me, Lieutenant. I'll do better, I'll be stronger. Just don't give me up."

"I won't. Hush now, before someone hears you. It's gonna be all right, I promise. I won't give you up, and I won't screw you over. You _know_ that, don't you?"

Murray nodded against his shoulder, choking back a sob.

"It's just hard, 'cause you've been so sick," he went on, low and soothing. "I know what that's like. When they took me out of that hospital and I knew you were sitting there in my room, thinking I was coming back…They put me on a chopper to Albuquerque, just to make sure nobody'd know me, and I spent damn near a month in a hospital there, just hoping I wouldn't make it. If it hadn't been for those animals needing someone to testify against 'em, and the hope that you'd forgive me when it was over, I wouldn't have."

"I would have waited forever," Murray whispered. "Nick and Cody still needed me to work, so I was going to do that. I didn't want to love anyone else."

"Yeah?" he asked, suddenly teasing. "Not even that cute little FBI girl?"

"Gloria? Oh, it was sort of flattering, thinking she might like me, but I didn't really want her. She was nothing, compared to you. And in the end, she was just using me like everyone does."

"Not everyone."

"No," he sighed, sniffing back tears, fighting for control. "Lieutenant, I'm sorry. I can't ask you to break your word, or go against your conscience. I'm just so—so lonely, when you're gone."

"I know. Don't you think I get lonely too, you little geek?"

Murray laughed at the unexpected insult, and Quinlan kissed him before his smile faded.

"Look, we're here now, aren't we? We've got a week at sea with no witnesses, so let's enjoy it. Can we do that?"

"Sure, of course. I'm sorry I started this. We're supposed to be having a good time, and here I am crying like a selfish child. Of course it's harder for you…"

"No, not harder. The same, I think," he said, generously. "Are you ready to sleep yet?"

"I guess." He moved rather reluctantly from the warm lap and lay down. "I miss your apartment. You had such a nice bed."

"Yeah, I miss that, too. This thing is the worst. I've slept in better beds on front lines. Why don't your buddies get you something decent? Don't you make them enough money?"

"Don't be mean," Murray said mildly, stretching out on his back, holding Quinlan's hand tightly to his chest. "I could have any bed I wanted, but there's no room in here. They give me a hard time about it, too, because I'd rather have computers."

"They give you a hard time about having a lumpy mattress?" he asked, his voice tinged with jealousy.

"They worry about me," he said simply. He knew Quinlan was thinking insecure thoughts and chose to be flattered.

"Don't screw with me, kid," Quinlan muttered, turning on his side and propping his head up on one hand.

"Why, Lieutenant—" he said, his expression all innocent smile and puppy dog eyes.

"What did I just say?"

"Sorry. It's all very simple for you, isn't it?" he asked suddenly, touching the ring on Quinlan's hand with one finger.

"What is?"

"This. Being with me. You don't have to analyze and label and dissect, you just do it."

"Do what? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I think you just proved my point."

Sensing that he was being made fun of, Quinlan disentangled his hand and slid it down Murray's belly, unsurprised to find him already half-erect.

"Kid, I think this is the only point you've got," he said, fondling it almost roughly, the way Murray liked.

"Oh, no. I had another one," he sighed, happily. "I'm sure I did. But it's probably not important."

"No, probably just the answer to world hunger or the energy crisis or something."

"Maybe. If it was, I'm sure I'll remember. For now, let's do this."

"You sure you're not too tired?"

"I haven't done anything but eat and sleep all day. But if you're tired…" He trailed off in a soft groan as the broad hand cupped his testicles, rolling them gently until they began to draw up. Murray knew his lover was tired, that he'd had a miserable weekend with hardly any sleep, and it was something of a wonder than he'd gotten it up at all that day. He couldn't count on it happening again. But Murray was also greedy, hungry for him and for the life affirming intimacy he provided.

"Not too tired to blow you," Quinlan suggested, wanting to give him something.

"No, not that." He liked it, but there was an element of servitude to it that bothered him. The balance of power between them was a delicate thing, whether the lieutenant ever analyzed it or not, and Murray felt it shifting dangerously in his direction whenever his lover knelt at his feet. Of course, what he had in mind now also affected the balance, but in a more manageable way.

"What, then? It's your big chance, kid. Whatever you want."

Murray stopped breathing altogether for a second, thinking of what he almost never did. But there was that delicate balance to consider. It wouldn't be fair when the lieutenant was too tired to really enjoy it. And he was still a little tired himself. Better to stick with something that would let him be quick and sloppy.

"I want this," he said, rising up enough to push Quinlan down on his back. Straddling him swiftly, he pushed his erection between the firm thighs and pressed them together with his own. It took him a moment to settle in comfortably, to get the pressure and angle right, moving slowly with many soft gasps and sighs. Quinlan wrapped one arm around his narrow back and clutched his neck with the other, holding his head down, plundering his sweet mouth. Murray set his elbows against the sturdy ribs and thrust hard, feeling coarse hair and smooth skin, the tightening and relaxing of strong muscles around his most sensitive flesh; the slide of skin, now slick with sweat, as he moved over his lover's body, the subtle twitch of Quinlan's cock, filling against his belly.

Never one to gloat, Murray didn't tell him that he thought that would happen. He just shifted to accommodate it and kept up the easy sliding thrusts, rubbing firm but gentle against Quinlan's tightening sac, groaning aloud when the other man crossed his ankles and squeezed him so blissfully tight.

Murray bit at his lover's swollen lips, sucked his tongue eagerly, tasting all of his mouth before sliding down his jaw to his throat, raising bruises marked with teeth. He raised up just a little and slid one hand between them, cradling the thick cock more against his belly, pumping it hard as Quinlan growled his name in that wolfish, possessive way.

"God, Ted," he sighed, thrusting impatiently, wanting in a purely selfish way to turn the other man over and fuck him hard. He'd only done that a couple of times; it upset his idea of the power balance even under the best of circumstances, and this was certainly not one of them. But he wanted to, and thinking about it helped speed things up considerably.

Suddenly Quinlan was releasing his neck, letting go and reaching for the box that had migrated to the outer edge of the bed. He located the lube by feel and unscrewed the cap behind Murray's back. For a moment Murray was puzzled, his brain fuzzy with pleasure, focused almost entirely on the orgasm he felt building in every part of his body. They hardly needed lubrication between them, their combined sweat and pre-come had seen to that. No matter how hard Quinlan squeezed him, his cock slid easily all the way to the mattress, feeling every sweet centimeter of skin along the way.

Then the gentle, calloused hand was on his ass, one cool slick finger pressing slowly but surely into him. Murray cried out sharply before winding down to a low, anxious groan. He thrust harder, not down into the mattress now, but forward, into the heat of Quinlan's groin, bringing a startled cry from him, as well.

"Sorry," he whispered, but was helpless not to do it again. The sweet drag of moist flesh against the smooth length of his shaft was almost hypnotic, and Quinlan moved with him, protecting himself, and at the same time thrusting harder into the talented, capable hand that held him so tightly. His own finger probed deeper, stroking slowly in opposition to the rhythm of their bodies, looking for the sweet spot, but in no hurry to find it. His other hand slid down to grip Murray's hip, pulling them together harder, faster, amazed to realize that he was going to come tonight after all.

"That's it, kid," he said hoarsely. "That's it. God, you're good. So fucking good. If you think I'd settle for anyone else—oh, _fuck_, baby…"

"Hurry," Murray panted against his ear. "Fuck me already, please. Fuck me and let me come."

In an instant, he shoved another finger inside and found Murray's prostate, already pulsing and ready to shoot. He stroked over it once, lightly, making the skinny man buck against him almost painfully. Biting Quinlan's shoulder to muffle his cries, he jacked the thick cock harder, determined not to come alone as the strong fingers skated and teased. But Quinlan came first, undone by the biting and the desperate pleas. His hands tensed and he massaged the tender gland to the rhythm of his own orgasm, clenching his thighs together and sweeping Murray over the edge with him.

It was impossible now for Murray to stifle himself, impossible to do anything but babble and cry and die and be reborn, warm and safe and loved in a world that exploded with pleasure. Quinlan held him close, fucking him through it with knowing fingers, and already starting to ease him down with a soothing hand on his back.

"Okay, kid?" he murmured, when the worst of it had passed.

"Yeah. I'm okay, Lieutenant." He pressed his cheek to Quinlan's and lay still, catching his breath.

"You know I'm not even a lieutenant anymore, right?" he asked with mock irritation. "And even if I was, you outrank me."

"Sometimes," Murray sighed, choosing not to address the first part. "But not usually."

"I don't know what to do with you, kid. You're such a freak…"

"You know exactly what to do with me." He pushed himself up on his hands, kissed Quinlan soft and slow, and collapsed beside him on the bed.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm gonna hit the head. And you're sleeping in the wet spot."

"Yes sir," Murray grinned, already half asleep. He heard his lover mutter something about dumbass fools of colonels, but paid it no mind. It was just another way Quinlan had of telling him how much he was loved.


End file.
